Steven Seagal IS Coming for You
by LadyCordeliaStuart
Summary: When a clever mobster exploits a loophole on tribal grounds, Forrest Taft springs into action
1. Chapter 1

Forrest Taft held his hands crossed in front of his chest, gathering his energies. He drew in a breath and felt the power concentrating and focusing into deadly force. His harsh, stony eyes were leveled at the wall as though he was looking through a charging enemy. He swept one arm back into a claw-like stance and thrust it forward, releasing the energy and power with a softly contained exclamation. He drew up one foot and let it back down, shifting his stance to meet and counter his hypothetical enemy. He bent his knees and released a flurry of punches, jabs, and strikes, any of which would instantly decimate a normal man.

When he had reached the end of his training, he drew himself back into a resting stance and bowed formally, acknowledging the wisdom of the ancients and their ways. His own heritage was Native American, but he respected the martial knowledge of all cultures and worked to master them all. His training room reflected this philosophy. Like himself, it was spartan and stark. The floor was a network of tatami mats and the walls were white voids. Nearly everything in the room was functional: the punching bag, the barbells, and the razor sharp pair of sais. The only decoration was the ceremonial spear hanging on the wall. Forrest's tribal elder, Aqakuktuq Catches Fish, had given it to him long ago during a ritual potlach, and it was his most prized possession.

"Forrest? Are you done?" Linda called from outside the room. For her, he would be. She was the prettiest thing in his life, prettier than newly fallen snow or the towering mountains outside their remote lodge. Her rolling blonde hair and gentle blue eyes provided all the color the ice of Alaska needed. Their home was nestled between the jagged peaks of the harsh Alaska Range, partway between the civilization of the modern world and the mysteries of tribal land. She entered the room, carrying a tray with two cups.

"You're always working. I brought tea," she said. She was used to Forrest's ways and sat directly on the floor. He joined her and drank his tea quietly as he listened to her news.

"River Crow called," she said. "They found a new owner from the casino. He's not from the reservation, though. I wonder how that works." Forrest, born of a Yupik father and a white mother, was intimately involved in the affairs of the Yupik reservation twenty miles from his house, as well as the police business in the nearby city of Sitka, where he served as a patrolman. His double heritage and career in the Alaskan police force gave him unique jurisdiction and profound knowledge of the politics involved in a sovereign but conquered nation. He savored his tea in contemplation, then rose. Linda, who had continued talking about the same subject, interrupted herself.

"Where are you going?" she asked. She figured it out before he had to answer, and he left in silence. Linda, who was used to such behavior, thought nothing of it. Forrest was always single-minded when it came to his work.

For years Forrest had served as a dual representative of law and tradition. He patrolled the reservation informally, watching for trespassers who would violate the rights of an already downtrodden people. He monitored the casino and dealt with unsavory types and desperate fools. He spoke with the people of the land and carried their concerns and grievances to the powers that be. He guarded his people with the ferocity and zeal of the tribal chieftains of long ago, striving to preserve the dignity and wisdom of his tribe.

As much as Forrest disapproved of the cheap debauchery a casino held, he knew it was necessary for the wellbeing of the reservation. People weren't interested in the intricate crafts and timeless stories the Yupik had to offer. What they _were_ interested in was the promise of cheap fortune, and the sovereign nation took advantage of their vague powers to provide just that. In good hands, the casino could provide a livelihood for the tribe and generate the funds they needed to stay out of poverty. A foreign trespasser wouldn't know any of those things. A business owner from the same greedy people that frequented the casino would care only about profit. Until he saw him, Forrest was willing to give him the benefit of the doubt, but it was something he would have to look into.


	2. Fight

Something was wrong. Before Forrest even walked into the Aituserk Casino, he noticed the differences. Usually there were a few Native boys loitering out front selling knickknacks or panhandling. The old owner, Charlie Winter Seal, tolerated the boys because he knew they were just trying to make a living. But when Forrest reached the gaudy facade at the casino's entrance, the boys were gone, and a shady-looking security guard stood in their place, his hand on a suspicious lump at his waist. The man glowered at Forrest as he went by.

The inside of the casino was as different as the outside. Workmen were busy tearing out a section of one wall, and other workers were bustling around moving decorations and setting things up. A painted spread tacky red paint over the formerly dusky brown walls. Nearly all of the carved wooden furniture had been replaced by glitzy modern pieces. When Forrest saw one of the men moving a priceless Yupik basket, he spoke up.

"Hey, what's going on?" he said. He took the basket. "Be careful with that."

The worker, a small, pale man, looked up at Forrest. "Excuse me, sir?"

Another, larger man came to the first worker's aid. "Sir, we're going to need you to give the basket back."

"Is Charlie here? I need to see him," Forrest said. He gently placed the basket on the ground.

"Charlie?" the larger man asked. The smaller one scurried away.

"The owner?" Forrest asked

"The _former_ owner? Maybe you'd better talk to Mr. Hammer instead," the man said.

"Maybe I should," Forrest said. The man started to lead him further into the building. Everthing was going well until Forrest heard a crunch. He looked back and saw a man holding two splintered ends of a fishing net over a garbage bag. Forrest whirled back and charged at the man.

"What do you think you're doing?" he seethed. The man nearly dropped the pieced.

"Mr. Hammer told me to get rid of this junk," he stammered. He backed away and looked pleadingly at the other workers.

"Junk? Do you have any idea what this is, boy?" Forrest said, his quiet voice taut with anger. Two security guards appeared on either side of him.

"Sir, you need to leave," one said.

"I'm not going anywhere until you start showing some respect," Forrest said. One of the guards took his arm just as another worker started stuffing a painted pelt into the garbage bag. That was all Forrest could take. He jerked his arm back, flipping the security guard head over heels in one move. The other one rushed at him and he shot out his arm, propelling him forward into a blank piece of drywall. The first guard got up and Forrest slammed his foot into his knee. There was a horrible crack, and the man screamed and he crumpled again. A third security guard joined the fray and grabbed Forrest from behind. He pivoted around, sweeping the man's legs out from under him and slamming him down into the ground. When he began to stir, Forrest grabbed him by the collar and smashed him against the wall. With two of the men whimpering in pain, Forrest focused on the remaining guard, the one he'd thrown across the room moments ago. The man was fumbling with a pager as he tried to get to his feet. When he saw Forrest coming, he aimed a punch at his head. Forrest grabbed his fist and squeezed, shattering the bones. The man screamed and dropped the pager. Forrest grabbed his shirt and shoved him back against the wall. He pinned him in place as he drew back his hand to deliver a crushing blow. The man's gaze caught something behind Forrest, and his terror turned to desperate hope.

"Mr. Hammer," he said.

"Can I interrupt?" came a voice from behind Forrest. It wasn't Charlie Winter Seal's good-natured tone. It wasn't even a voice Forrest recognized. The man wasn't from the reservation, and he probably wasn't even from the same state. The voice sounded urban and modern, like the man was from a rough part of Chicago. Forrest let go of the security guard, who slumped to the floor and started to crawl away. He turned to face his real enemy: Alex Hammer.


	3. Uneasy Calm

**Note: Hammer is racist. His views on the Yupik are backwards and offensive. I'm also sorry for all mistakes I will make involving Yupik culture.**

* * *

Hammer was nothing like Forrest had expected. Instead of a weaselly city slicker, he looked more like a gentleman mafioso. His pale blonde hair was slightly curly and swept back as though it was styled. His light blue eyes seemed amused by all the damage Forrest had caused and looked at him as though he was a pesky beast to be shooed away. His impeccably tailored suit contrasted with Forrest's fringed deerskin jacket, marking them as representatives of two different worlds.

"Can I help you?" he said, as if teasing a child. His eyes flickered over the slumped men and scattered debris.

"You should watch your men more carefully," Forrest said. "They're making a mess."

"Then I'm glad you came. And who might this savior be?" Hammer asked. Forrest took out his badge.

"Forrest Taft, SPD," he said. Hammer extended a hand, which Forrest shook angrily, his long fingers barely restrained from crushing Hammer's slender, delicate ones.

"Alex Hammer, CEO," Hammer said.

"I heard," Forrest said. "I came to see what you had planned for the place." Hammer smiled as if surprised in the middle of a good deed.

"Planned? After I update the place a little, I'll reopen it and let the people have what they want," Hammer said. Forrest glared at him.

"What about the Natives? Do they get what _they_ want?" he accused.

"The Natives?" Hammer asked. He looked as though he hadn't realized they existed.

"This is their land. People like you come in here and think they'll just disappear. Haven't your kind done enough?" Forrest said, his soft voice taut with intensity.

"They're as welcome as anyone else. As long as they pay," Hammer said, and he smiled.

"Do you have any plans to reach out to them? This place is their livelihood. If they don't share in it, some of them won't eat," Forrest said. He thought of other reservations he'd seen, more government-funded dumps than homes for a proud people. They were filled with hopeless, strung-out shells that escaped life with alcohol or resorted to crime to stay alive.

"I'm not forcing them to stay. If they're anything like you, let them hunt for their food," Hammer said. "Is there anything else I can help you with?"

"You should have your men check before they destroy anything else. You might waste a lot of money," Forrest spat. He left the casino, brushing past the still staggering guards. It wasn't over.

"Let's see... Alexander Hammer. Hammer. Hackman... Halford... Hammer," Captain George Nimitz tapped the keys on his computer as he searched the police database at Forrest's request.

"There he is. Oh boy, you got a problem. Alexander Hammer was born April 9th, 1961. He grew up in Rochester and committed his first crime at fourteen. By the time he was twenty he was the kingpin of an empire reaching from Duluth to the North Shore, with his fingers in everything from drugs to sex trafficking. Yessir, he's a very had boy. But why would he come here?" he said.

"Any outstanding warrants?" Forrest asked. Nimitz scrolled down.

"He served ninety days probation for that first crime. Then he wised up. With his team of lawyers, he's skirted past every charge we've thrown at him, including thirteen for assault, one for conspiracy to commit murder, dozens for possession, and a bunch of others. He's also the prime suspect in at least five murders, including-" Nimitz made a face- "One involving a baseball bat and a cattle prod. _There's_ a picture I didn't need to see."

"We can't leave him there. He's a menace," Forrest said. He burned at the thought of Hammer sitting among his people like a festering, infectious wound. They'd been through enough. They deserved better.

"There's nothing we can do," Nimitz said. "Even if I had a warrant, I couldn't go in there. We don't have jurisdiction."

"That's bullshit," Forrest exploded in a whisper. "They need our help."

Nimitz shrugged. "I don't have jurisdiction. I can't set foot on the reservation without tons of paperwork and unless dozens of them give formal permission. Even if most of them want it, there's always someone who wants to make a political statement. I'm sorry, Forrest."

Forrest knew he was right. The Yupik were a sovereign nation, a right they'd won after decades of mistreatment and prejudice. For better or for worse, they were on their own. But he knew if Hammer so much as touched one of them, he'd pay.

"Forrest, don't go do anything crazy," Nimitz warned. He'd seen that look in Forrest's eyes before. It never ended well for anyone but the coroner. "Why don't you stay away from it? I'll get someone to watch the case and the second Hammer steps off Native land we'll bring him in."

Forrest didn't respond. He tactfully gave Nimitz the opportunity to assume he agreed and later deny any knowledge of Forrest's actions. He didn't go back to the reservation after he left the station, but it wouldn't be long. The law was the law, but this was personal.


	4. Big Mistake

Forrest was itching for trouble. He knew Hammer was up to no good, but until his crimes were grievous enough to warrant action, all he could do was wait. He'd spent hours going over pages and pages of laws and regulations, looking for an excuse to go after him. It burned him up to see Hammer gradually usurp the casino and remove all traces of its proud heritage. A coalition of Natives was able to convince him to donate most of the artifacts in the name of good publicity, but it was still infuriating to see the building so bare of its old inhabitants and so saturated with glitzy greed. He paced the house restlessly, ignoring Linda's pleas for him to relax. When Sergeant Nimitz called, Forrest jumped into action.

"What is it?" he demanded.

"There's an incident on the reservation," Nimitz began.

"What did he do?" Forrest interrupted.

"Hold on, Forrest. Hammer's the one who called us," Nimitz said.

"What?!" Forrest asked.

"I know. Try to stay calm, okay? He says there's some sort of mob outside his casino. He says they're 'threatening his business' and that if we don't get them off his property he may be forced to protect himself," Nimitz said. Forrest hung up. He didn't trust himself to speak.

Forrest arrived at the casino to find hordes of people crowding around the entrance, waving signs and shouting slogans. Some of them were dressed in traditional Native clothing, and others wore elaborate face paint. Their signs were covered with messages like "Native Pride!" and "Go Home White Invaders!" Hammer's men glared at the crowd and seemed to be barely holding themselves back.

"No more!" shouted one protester. "Leave our land in peace!" The whole scene made Forrest reflect on the decades of struggle it had taken for his people to reach the level of equality they enjoyed, and he chafed at the injustice they still faced.

"Go home and give us ours back!" shouted another. Forrest made his way through the throng, and the people parted to let him pass.

"It's Forrest!" someone called. The protesters cheered him on.

"Forrest! Give em' hell!" someone said. Another man called out a Yupik war cry. One of Hammer's men came and escorted Forrest to his office. Forrest walked beside him with his arms heavy at his side and leaning forward slightly, as if walking against the wind. The room was sparsely decorated with items plainly meant to show the owner's taste and extravagance. Hammer was sitting behind a massive wooden desk, and he motioned Forrest to sit. Forrest waited in stony silence for Hammer to speak.

"As you can see, I am under attack," he said. "Like any law-abiding citizen, I require police assistance."

"They want justice. If you treated them fairly, they'd welcome you," Forrest said softly.

"Look at them," Hammer said. He pointed out the window to the thronging masses. "They're acting like animals. Why shouldn't I treat them like it?"

Forrest clenched his fists and restrained himself. He spoke through clenched teeth.

"What do you want us to do?" he asked.

"Only my rights. Clear them out and make it known that any further trespasses will not be tolerated," Hammer said.

"How do you suggest we do that?" Forrest said. Hammer smiled.

"I should think only a few officers will be necessary. My men will be most cooperative," Hammer said. "When can I expect them?"

"You want us to come here?" Forrest asked. Hammer looked at him like an ignorant child. Forrest stared back at him and the two men warred for dominance.

"I don't anticipate the mob will move," he said.

"I can't do that," Forrest said. Hammer's smile hardened.

"What?" he asked. His entire demeanor changed, and Forrest saw the hardened mob boss starting to show.

"This is Native land. You own the casino, but the land it's on is not American. Without the permission of the Yupik leaders, we can't set foot on the reservation. I'm afraid there's nothing I can do," Forrest said. He smiled innocently and watched Hammer try to hide his fury. He'd made a great mistake, and Forrest enjoyed every second of it. Undoubtedly, Native sovereignty was the entire reason Hammer had built his casino on the reservation. The police couldn't extradite him or come to arrest him without an international incident. It was a brilliant loophole that allowed him to dodge infinite warrants and skirt laws barring his various illegal businesses. It also meant that he was at the mercy of the Yupik, and he was finding out they weren't as placid as he'd hoped.

"Then there's no reason for you to be here," Hammer said, his eyes sparking with fury. He rose sharply at motioned for his guard to dismiss Forrest. "Perhaps at least you can respect private property."

"I'm terribly sorry," Forrest said. "I wish I could help." He left the casino and the protesters surrounded him, pressing for information.

"What did he say?" one asked.

"Did you give him the works?" asked another.

"He wanted me to break up the mob. Unfortunately, my hands are tied. I guess you'll have to keep making trouble," Forrest said. The people broke into cheers and waved their signs with increased fervor. Hammer was in for a long day.


	5. Breaking Point

Forrest watched the streets roll by through the window of his patrol car. Hammer had been quiet for the last week, and Forrest had gone back to his normal beat until he was needed again. The last few days had been filed with routine traffic stops, minor drug busts, and a single domestic disturbance call, which had turned out to be a false alarm.

He was just about to turn on his scanner when he heard the sound of breaking glass. He looked up at the noise and saw a young man reach through a shattered store window and grab a handful of jewelry. He took off down the street as the owner appeared in the entrance and yelled for help.

Forrest tore open the door and ran after the man, bent forward at the waist with his arms stiff at his sides. If he followed him in the car, the man would just run down a narrow alley, but it didn't matter. He'd caught thousands of punks and this one would be no different. The man heard his footsteps and looked over his shoulder. When he saw Forrest, he tilted forward and ran faster, heading for a winding, deserted strip of alleys. Forrest followed him down a narrow road and the man threw down a garbage can behind him to block the way. Forrest jumped over it and pulled up behind the man, tackling him to the ground. The man squawked as Forrest landed on him and scuttled out from beneath him. He got to his feet and pulled out a switchblade.

"Just shove off, man," he said. He waved the knife at Forrest, who smiled.

"Better be careful, boy. You might hurt someone," he said. The man slashed at Forrest again and Forrest snagged his arm. He twisted it until he dropped the knife and pulled him in to cuff him. The man punched at Forrest with his other arm and Forrest yanked him in and flipped him to the ground. After he got the cuffs on, he hauled him back to the car and threw him in the backseat. Something was on the scanner, and he listened as he started the car.

 _"Units respond, 11.41.100 in Tapraq village. Please advise,"_ the scanner blared. Forrest stopped in his seat and focused all his attention on the scanner. An 11.41.100 was a homicide. There was a murder on the reservation. There was no doubt as to why. Forrest started to drive. The man in the backseat was in for a long wait.

The Natives at the border were generally suspicious of US patrol cars, but they recognized Forrest. He'd radioed on the way to let the other patrolmen know it was taken care of, since there wasn't much they could do on foreign soil. The guards waved him through and he drove toward the location broadcast on the scanner. It was easy to find, since a crowd of people was gathered around a nightclub Forrest recognized from infrequent visits. The Natives often used it as a gathering place to discuss tribal matters and occasionally complain about white people.

"Move aside," Forrest said as he brushed past the crowd. When the people saw it was him they moved back out of his way and cleared a path to the victim, who was lying under a sheet waiting for the inevitable and useless ambulance. A Native policeman, Kit Yaqulpak, was kneeling beside the body. He looked up at Forrest and his face fell.

"Who is it?" Forrest asked. Kit pulled back the sheet. Forrest tensed when he saw the bloodied young man's face staring blankly up at him. It was Amlliq Steps Forward. Forrest had known him for years, and he respected him greatly. Amlliq had been a tireless crusader for his people, ignoring his young age and stepping up to do whatever his people needed. He'd refused to take a white name and was every bit the proud warrior his Natibe name suggested. Forrest had seen him earlier at the protest, and he knew exactly why Amlliq was here. There had been unrest on the reservation every since Hammer came. Reports of mischief and vandalism were off the charts. Most of them didn't make it to Forrest's station, due to jurisdiction, but he knew the people and he knew the situation. Amlliq hadn't told Forrest about all the Native activities in order to give him plausible deniability, but he was obviously the ringleader of the informal resistance. He was also a respected and adored figure among the Natives, especially the younger and more passionate ones. Obviously Hammer had had enough of the Native's efforts and was sending them a classic massage.

Forrest covered his friend back up and stood. Kit said something, but he didn't listen. He got back into his car and headed for the station. There had to be something the law could do in such a dire situation. Surely the Yupik would extend permission for outside aid. They had their reasons to be suspicious of outsiders, but the Sitka Police Department had nearly always been helpful and polite. Hammer had gone too far, and there was no going back.

"How long is this going to take?" the punk in the backseat asked. Forrest didn't answer. His mind was filled with a thousand thoughts of bloody vengeance and retribution. Hammer had made conflict inevitable, but he had also made it personal. No matter what the police department could do, Hammer had Forrest to deal with now. And that would be more than enough.


	6. Going Native

Forrest stormed into Nimitz's office, leaving a trail of bewildered and cowering cadets and lieutenants in his wake. He leaned forward over his desk, sweeping off a sheet of paper and shaking the room.

"He's gone far enough. We have to take him down," Forrest said. Nimitz took the outburst in stride. He leaned back in his chair and adjusted his glasses.

"This is about Hammer, isn't it? Forrest, I told you. My hand are-" he started.

"Amlliq is dead," Forrest said, his soft voice blunt with rage. Nimitz's eyes widened. He took off his glasses and rested them against his head.

"Shit," he said. Forrest slammed a fist against the desk.

"It isn't just about him. He was sending a message. He's never going to leave my people in peace. I have to help them," he said. Nimitz spread his hands.

"I'm sorry, Forrest. I know he was your friend, and he was a good man. And I know you're right. He did it. But even if I could prove it, I don't have any power there. A warrant wouldn't mean anything and an arrest would just get us both fired," Nimitz said. He slumped in his chair and sighed.

"You're just going to let him keep terrorizing them?" Forrest seethed. His face was a stiff mask marred only by his furrowed brow and hardened eyes. Nimitz looked out the glass partition that separated his office from the rest of the station. He got up and closed the door, then sat back down in his chair. He looked back at Forrest and spoke in a lowered voice.

"There's nothing the Sitka Police Department can do," he said. "I can request an investigation and increase off-reservation activity. That's it. Whatever help the Natives get will have to come from inside their community." He looked meaningfully at Forrest, who caught hus meaning.

"However, there _is_ something I can do for _you,"_ Nimitz continued. "Obviously, you're very upset at your friend's death. It is my recommendation that you take a few days of bereavement leave. What you do on your own time is not our concern, so long as you're not caught. In any case, what you do on Native lands, as a registered Native, is not my responsibility."

Forrest permitted himself a small smile. He should have known Nimitz had his back. For thirteen years they'd worked together, and he knew Nimitz was an honorable man. This time, he couldn't help Forrest, but he also wouldn't stop him. Even if it meant his job, he would see that justice was done. He rose to leave.

"Thanks, Chief. I'll try to stay out of trouble," he said. Nimitz folded his arms.

"I'm sure," he said.

* * *

All day long, Forrest lay in wait. Like a polar bear over a seal's breathing hole, he watched the casino, waiting for his prey. Cars started to flow in and he knew a shift change was coming soon. Sure enough, a trickle of white men in pressed suits exited the building. He tracked their movements to a street lined with the same blighted businesses found in every corner of the world. Even the proud Natives had members who had no other recourse than to sell drugs and themselves to those unscrupulous enough to patronize them. A few members of the group split off, but most of them went into a building lit by harsh neon signs promising "FRIENDLY NATIVE GIRLS" and "YUPIK FERTILITY DANCES". Forrest slipped in after them.

The establishment was everything he'd feared. Barely clad women ground against poles as men hooted and threw offerings. It pained Forrest's soul to see his sisters so poorly treated, and his rage against their tormenters hardened all the more. He took a seat on the opposite end of the bar and waited for his chance. The bartender started when he noticed his newest patron.

"Forrest? What are you doing here?" he asked. He was a Native, like most of the workers, and he knew Forrest wasn't the type to frequent strip clubs. Forrest turned sharply, but the casino workers hadn't heard over the blasting music and shouting revelers.

"Shh. Just give me a coke, all right?" he asked. The bartender saw who he was looking at and nodded in understanding. He discreetly ignored Forrest as he watched the workers grow drunker and rowdier. They started wandering over to the dance floor. One of the dancers, a busty woman wearing thigh-high mukluks and little else, sat on one's lap and whispered in his ear. She took his hand and started pulling him to a door in the back of the club. His buddies cheered him on and he stumbled after her. Forrest saw his chance and got up to follow. He threw open the door the woman had closed behind them.

Oviously, he was a most unwanted guest. The man was sprawled on a couch with the dancer straddling him and pulling at his pants. When she saw Forrest, she squealed and jumped up. The man got up after her, though it was considerably harder for him.

"Get out of here," Forrest said to the woman. Her shocked face was caked under layers of makeup rudely approximating war paint. She scuttled around him and out of the room.

"Hey!" the man called after her. After she was gone, he turned to Forrest. "What the hell, man?"

"I think you should find a new job," Forrest said. He pulled the door shut behind him. The man sneered.

"What are you talking about?" he slurred. Forrest strode across the room and grabbed him by the throat. He slammed him down onto the coffee table next to the couch and bent over him. The man squawked and started pushing against him. Forrest pulled his _pana,_ the traditional snow knife he'd taken with him after he changed into his Native clothes, and held it up over the man. The man's eyes widened and he screamed as Forrest brought the knife down. It thudded into the wooden table inches from the man's eye, and Forrest was right behind it.

"I _said_ I think you should find a new job," Forrest said. It wasn't long after that that the man staggered out the rear exit of the building. Forrest had warned him in no uncertain terms what would happen if he saw him on his reservation again, and he was confident the man had listened. But he wasn't done yet. The night was still young, and there were plenty more workers.


	7. Edge of Disaster

HELP WANTED

Forrest smiled as he looked at the sign. It was like a declaration of defeat from the seemingly impenetrable casino. After his little campaign, Hammer was finding himself increasingly low on workers. Forrest only wished he knew which one had killed Ammliq. It was lucky for the unknown man that he didn't. Scaring him away would have been too merciful.

The lack of personnel meant that Forrest could loiter in the casino parking lot far longer than he normally could have. Before, a security guard would have chased him away within minutes. What few guards were left were desperately trying to hold off the small but determined band of Native protesters. Forrest felt an ancient pride at the valor of his people. They would never stop fighting, and they'd outlasted far worse than Hammer. One of the Natives came to Forrest's car and leaned into the open window.

"Hey, Forrest," he said. "Did you hear? Ten of Hammer's workers quit yesterday. Imagine that."

Forrest smiled. "I wonder why," he said. He recognized the man as one of the oldest Natives on the reservation, Paul Snapping Bear. His weathered, stoic face was covered in painted markings simulating the intricate tattooes only someone of his stature could fully understand, and it showed the venerable old man's regal heritage. His markings were more than simple ornamentation. They told of his parentage, his accomplishments, his rank, and his entire life. They were the visual representation of the Yupik's oral tradition. Paul was his people's greatest receptacle of ancient stories and Native wisdom. He was a rare treasure in a quickly changing world.

"What have you all up to?" Forrest asked. While he had been waging his guerrila war on Hammer's men, the Natives had been fighting their own battles. Their constant acts of sabotage had been hidden when possible and overlooked when not. Hammer's men found themselves thrown out of restaurants, prosecuted for the most minor traffic violations, and shunned wherever they went. Hammer quickly learned that any problems in his casino had to be outsourced to avoid further sabotage from Native repairmen or inspectors. Unfamiliar cars were vandalized, the plowman "forgot" to clear the snow from Hammer's parking lot, and any casino patrons had to cross a line of shouting protesters.

"The boys have been keeping busy with their little slogans. Hammer doesn't have enough men to keep up. Soon the entire casino will be covered," Paul said. Forrest had seen the artwork, and he was very impressed. Some of the messages were simple juvenile humor, but most of them formed an unignorable witness to Hammer's kind. From pictures of the forced education to names of Natives slain by white invaders, the paintings at once showed bystanders the troubled history of foreign relations and emphasized Hammer's continuation of them. Forrest and Paul shared a moment of quiet amusement before Forrest saw trouble coming.

"Speak of the devil," Forrest said. He looked over Paul's shoulder, and the other man followed his gaze. Hammer himself was walking through the crowd, his impeccable suit standing out against the protesters' traditional garb like blood against the snow. He angrily shoved one of the Natives out of his path and held up an arm to ward off another one shouting in his ear.

"See you later, Paul. Duty calls," Forrest said. Paul smirked as he drifted back into the crowd. Hammer stalked toward the car and Forrest got out to meet him. He smirked at Hammer and noted with amusement that his suit was rumpled and his hair was frizzed from his encounter with the Natives. His face matched his attire.

"This has gone far enough, Taft. Is there no law in this _savage_ land?" Hammer spat. Forrest's smile flickered at the insult. Hammer had no idea what honor was. _He_ was the savage.

"Of course there's nothing I can do, but the reservation has an excellent police department. I'm sure the Natives would be glad to help," he said placidly. Hammer controlled his his expression, but it emanated from him like waves of scorching heat.

"I thought you were a man of justice," Hammer said, his voice tight and sharp as a knife. His slender fingers were curled into tight fists and he leaned in closer to Forrest, who stood his ground.

"I thought you were smarter than a bunch of savages," he said softly. He smiled cheekily as Hammer grew rigid and he glared at Forrest with such intensity that a lesser man would have perished.

"This isn't over," he hissed. He turned sharply and stalked back into the casino, repelling the Native protesters with the force of his rage. One of them shot out an arm and brushed Hammer's suit. Hammer cried out and swatted the man away. The Natives broke into laughter and hooted at him as he fled inside.

Forrest's smile disappeared as he watched him go. He narrowed his eyes at the rage and cunning evident in Hammer's retreating form. The last time Hammer was crossed, Amlliq had died. Forrest didn't want any more Natives to die at Hammer's hands. He made a note to warn Paul and the others. With advanced notice they could band together and watch each others' backs. For thousands of years they'd done the same. Hammer had no understanding of concepts like brotherhood and community, and he was about to find out not everyone was as consciousless as he was.

Forrest could sense the storm brewing. Tensions were stretching to the limit, and it wouldn't be long before someone broke. It would take all his people's patience and wisdom to survive Hammer. Whatever Hammer's next move was, he had to anticipate it. His people were depending on him.


	8. Inferno

Linda Taft wandered through the house, pretending to clean in order to hide her anxiety. She'd known what she was getting into when she married a policeman, and usually it wasn't bad. Crime was low in Alaska, especially in Sitka. Even the reservation belied the stereotypes. Forrest had never been so much as injured on the job, and she knew there were few people who would even try. Really, she was more lonely than worried. Hammer had taken up so much of Forrest's time lately. In their remote cabin in the wilds of the tundra, there was little to do when he wasn't around.

She settled into an armchair and picked up a book, the latest of many she'd been working on recently. She enjoyed keeping house for Forrest, but there was more to life than cooking and cleaning. One of her favorite things to do when Forrest was gone was to read about exotic locations and thrilling adventures. She liked to imagine what it was like to live somewhere so hot she'd never need her thick fur parka, or on the high seas watching towering waves wash over the edge of a sailboat. She opened the book to the page she'd marked and started to read. A moment later, the sound of breaking glass interrupted her.

 _Oh dear, not again,_ she thought as she rose. It didn't happen often, but sometimes a sudden cold snap could weaken a windowpane until it shattered. She and Forrest had plastic sheets and tape ready for just such an occasion, and she followed the sound to see which window it was. She rounded a corner and froze.

The window was shattered, but it wasn't the cold that did it. A man dressed in all black was standing inside the kitchen, and he was waving a second man inside. They were both holding guns. Linda tried to duck back around the corner, but it was too late. The man in the window had seen her, and he pointed her out the the man inside. He turned, and Linda started to run. She heard the man pounding after her as she ran into her bedroom and slammed the door. The man grabbed at the doorknob as she locked the door, and she ran for the phone on her nightstand. After a second of dial tone it went dead, and she whimpered. She was running for the window when a crash shook the room and the door splintered nearly in half. She heard the lock turning, and then they were in the room. She clawed frantically at the half-opened window until someone grabbed her waist from behind and spun her back into the room. The man threw her onto her bed and pointed his gun at her.

"Just take what you want," Linda said as she held up her hands. If only Forrest was here.

"What should we do with her?" he asked the second man as he entered the room.

"We're supposed to waste Forrest. He didn't say anything about a woman," the first man said.

"That ain't the way. We're not supposed to waste women," the first man said. He lowered his gun.

"Let's bring her back to Hammer. He can decide what to do," the second man said. Linda struggled, but she was no match for the two men. They tied her hands with strips torn from her blanket and the first man carried her out of the house over his shoulder, past three more men. They threw her into the back of a black van.

 _Hammer,_ Linda thought. Of course he was behind this. He was tired of Forrest getting in his way. Her heart fluttered when she thought of her husband coming home to a trap, but she knew Forrest better than they did. They didn't know what they were dealing with.

* * *

As Forrest approached the house, he knew something was wrong. An instinct as ancient as the icy mountains told him to step carefully as he rolled to a stop at the end of the driveway. The lights inside the house were on, and nothing seemed out of place. All the same, he kept his guard up as he walked toward the door. He turned his key in the lock and opened the door. A draft of icy air hit him, and he knew exactly what was wrong. He threw himself to the side just as a hail of bullets sprayed from the doorway. He drew his own weapon and fired around the corner. When he heard a cry of pain, he tucked and jumped across the doorway, firing all the way. His bullets cut across the intruder's waist and he went down with a scream.

With the primary threat neutralized, his first thought were of Linda. Obviously, Hammer had sent his hit men to take care of him once and for all. The smell of rotten eggs permeated the air as Forrest checked behind the door and advanced into the house. The hit men must have planned to kill him, then burn down the house to hide the evidence. He also guessed there was more than one, and his suspicions were confirmed when he heard two sets of footsteps coming down the stairs in reaction to the commotion. He fired another three shots at the first figure, and the man tumbled limply down the steps. The remaining mercenary ran back upstairs for cover and shot at Forrest, missing him by inches.

"Where's my wife?" Forrest yelled. The two men sniped at each other, shattering glass and riddling the walls with holes. The intruder screamed as Forrest's bullet found his arm, and he dropped his gun. Forrest aimed to shoot again, but the chamber clicked empty. He threw down the gun and ran up the stairs. As he reached the top, a thick wooden pole nearly took his head off. He ducked underneath it and put up his arms to ward off another blow. The intruder had grabbed Forrest's ceremonial whaling spear off his wall and he rushed at him. Forrest burned to see such a storied piece of history disrespected so, and he sidestepped the strike with ease. He grabbed the shaft of the spear and flipped the man over it onto the ground. He slammed the butt of the spear into the man's face and threw it aside.

"Where is she?" he said again as the man got up. While he was still half-risen, Forrest grabbed his shirt and hauled him up. He threw him down the hallway and into the guest bedroom. When the man tried again to get up, Forrest curled his arm and slapped him, sending him crashing through the room and into a coffee table, which splintered into pieces. The man managed to get to his feet and he threw a punch at Forrest. Forrest batted his arm aside and brought his elbow smashing into the man's throat. At the same moment, he slammed his foot sideways into the man's knee, which buckled with a crunch. The man screamed and fell to the floor. Forrest grabbed his throat and picked him up, slamming him into a wall.

"Where's Linda?" he asked one last time. The man's face was streaked in blood and his eyes were full of terror as he answered.

"Hammer! Hammer has her," he said. Forrest's face was a mask of rage as he stared into the man's eyes. His grip tightened until he could feel the life being squeezed out of the man. His narrowed eyes were like steel beads.

"Tell Hammer I'm coming for him," he said. He threw the man back, right through the bedroom window. The glass exploded as the man hurtled through it. He shrieked in fear and pain as his blood streaked the glass and he fell to the ground in a rain of jagged shards.

Forrest didn't even bother to check if the man was dead. He picked up the discarded gun at the top of the stairs and left the house. When he reached his car, he turned around and fired into the kitchen. The bullet ingnited the gas and the house burst into a giant fireball.

Forrest drove away with the flames at his back. Hammer would think he'd won. He'd be dead before he found out otherwise.


	9. Menacingly

Linda wasn't surprised when the the van door opened and she found herself in the parking lot of Hammer's casino. She struggled and cried out for help, but there was no one to hear her. The protesters had all gone home as the bitter cold of the night set in. The darkness was as empty as a grave. The men dragged her inside and down a hall to Hammer's office. When River Crow owned the casino, his office was welcoming and full of warmth. Hammer had drained all the goodness from it and filled it with his own darkness and greed.

 _Hammer._ He was sitting behind his desk looking at his phone, dressed more casually in a white button-up shirt and black slacks. Linda's heart skipped when she saw him, and it lurched when he rose.

"What's this?" he said when he saw her. His menacing, icy eyes flicked over her.

"His wife was there. What should we do with her?" the man holding Linda asked as he untied her hands. The other one left. Hammer smiled like a prowling tiger.

"I'll take care of her. Is the job done?" he asked.

"They were supposed to call," the man said. Hammer looked at the phone.

"They didn't," he said. He walked across the room to a television set and turned it on. A news show came up showing the remnants of a burning house as a helicopter circled it and firefighters aimed hoses at the flames. Linda gasped when she recognized their house.

"Idiots. They probably forgot to run. No matter. He's gone," Hammer said. He walked closer to Linda and mimed wiping a tear from his eye. "Boo hoo."

Emotions swirled in Linda's head. Before, she'd thought Hammer was a common criminal. It was becoming clear that she was dealing with a madman. And what about Forrest? Was he trapped in that inferno, long since burned to ashes? She wanted to run to the spot and dig through the ashes herself. Her voice failed her and she turned away.

"Nico, take the night off," Hammer told the other man. "Tell the boys drinks are on the house." He waved his arm.

"Thanks, boss," Nico said. He left, leaving Linda alone with Hammer. Hammer reached an arm past Linda, closing the door and trapping her. She tried not to shudder as she looked up at him.

"What do you want?" she asked. Hammer's face fell into an exaggerated sympathetic pout.

"Only to help a freshly bereaved widow. It's only natural to find comfort in the arms of another man," he purred, each word sliding smoothly from his mouth. He ran his fingers along her arm, and she pulled away.

"Let me go," she said when he tightened his grip. She jerked back at the end of his arm and ground her heels into the thick carpet as he reeled her in. He advanced toward her, and she backed away. She looked around desperately, but there was no escape.

"I didn't want to say anything, but now that he's gone... I never liked him," Hammer said. "You can do so much better." Linda's legs hit something behind her and she half-fell back. She realized it was a leather couch as she toppled into a reclining position. Hammer scooped her legs up onto it and sat on the edge of the couch next to her.

"Stop it," Linda protested. She tried to push Hammer away, but he pressed down on her arm with one hand and pinned the other with his ran a finger along his throat and she pressed down into the cushions away from him, shuddering at his snakelike touch. He kissed her neck below the ear as she wriggled under him and pulled back to see her face.

"Forrest will..." she started. Hammer smiled.

"Forrest will what? You saw what happened to him. He's dust in the wind," Hammer said. He slid his long leg up across Linda and straddled her. Despair fell over Linda and she knew there was no way out. But then she remembered something. Fire shot into her eyes and she glared up at Hammer.

"Yeah, I saw," she said. "But y ouknow what I didn't see? _His car,"_ she said. The smile dropped from Hammer's face and she almost laughed at the fear that came into it. At the entrance of the casino, shots rang out.


	10. War Party

Forrest screamed into the casino parking lot with murder in his heart. Instead of braking, he revved the engine and slammed into the entrance. Glass exploded everywhere and a siren started wailing. He yanked open the door and ducked beside the car as a wave of security guards came out shooting. He shot the first one that appeared and he flew back through the air. Two more took his place and Forrest shot one after the other, ducking for cover between shots. A bullet slammed into the car inches from his face and he rolled over to face the guard who had snuck up behind him. His gun clicked out of bullets, so he threw himself at the man and spun him around, right into the bullets two of his partners. The man jerked at the impacts and Forrest threw him down. Another man leaped at him from the side and Forrest pivoted, throwing him over his arm. He kept his hold and twisted the man's arm as he fell, only stopping when it snapped. The man screamed and Forrest left him writhing on the ground. He grabbed another guard's arm as he was about to shoot and threw him at another guard before the second man could draw his gun. The man tripped and fell on all fours. Forrest grabbed the back of his head and yanked it up, bringing his knee smashing into the man's face. The other man rose and pointed his gun at Forrest's head. Faster than the eye could see, Forrest snatched his arm and pointed it at the only remaining guard as the first man fired.

After that, there was only one man left. Forrest grabbed his collar and threw him across the room. He scuttled back away from Forrest and held up his hands in fear.

"You know, they say the house always wins," Forrest taunted. "All out of aces?"

"Don't kill me, man," the man plead. Forrest was disgusted at the man's cowardice and brought his leg up across the man's face. He spun away and lay still. Forrest took the man's gun, left the bloodstained foyer and stormed down the halls towards Hammer's office. A man rose up in the plate glass window of the second floor holding a machine gun. Forrest sprayed the glass with bullets and the man screamed and fell out the window and to the ground beside him. More men appeared in the shattered window, and they sprayed the first floor with bullets. Forrest dodged their shots and threw himself behind the cover of a large statue, picking them off one by one. Chaos and screaming filled the casino as Forrest continued his bloody attack. He charged inexorably toward Hammer's office, stopping only to fight those in his way.

"Forrest!" he heard Linda's voice from behind the door at the end of the hall. Then there was the sound of a slap, and she cried out in pain. Forrest ran at the door and slammed his foot into it. It splintered and burst from its hinges, revealing his final target.


	11. Gauntlet

Forrest ducked aside as Hammer opened fire at the doorway. He counted five shots before Hammer stopped firing. He poked his head around the corner and saw Hammer holding Linda in front of him and pressing his gun to her head. His blood boiled within him, but he kept still.

"One bullet left, Taft," Hammer said. His eyes were wild and his smile was like a death's-head grimace. "Should I make it count? I bet you'd like to see that." Forrest didn't even bother to respond. He examined Linda and saw she was unharmed, though the red mark on her cheek cut straight to his heart. There were no tears in her eyes, though. She looked back at him, completely unafraid.

"Drop it," Hammer said. Forrest laid his gun on the ground and stepped silently into the room. He advanced slowly, watching Hammer for any reaction.

"What makes a man hate, Hammer?" Forrest whispered. "Is it written on his soul before he enters the world? Is it learned from others, passed down as a dark legacy? Hate poisons the soul. It darkens the spirit." As he drew closer, Hammer stepped back. When he backed against the leather couch, he smiled and shifted his arm.

"A savage would know about hate," he said. He pointed the gun away from Linda's head and straight at Forrest. "Let the meek inherit." His finger tightened on the trigger. Linda slammed her head back into his face just as he pulled it. The shot went wide, ripping through the skin on Forrest's arm but barely scraping the flesh. Hammer's head snapped back and he spread his arms to catch his balance. Linda darted away from him and ran for the phone on his desk. Forrest glanced at her to ensure she was all right and Hammer ran out the back door of his office. Forrest ran after him.

Hammer was quick. When Forrest ran out the door after him, he couldn't see him. He came out in a hallway that lead to another door. He burst through that one and found himself in the great room of the casino. Roulette wheels are card tables stood throughout the space, and a pool table sat in the corner nearest Forrest. He swept the room with his eyes as he entered, straining all his senses to find Hammer. As it turned out, he didn't need any of them. As he passed near the bar, Hammer screamed and burst out from behind it, swinging a pool cue at Forrest's head. Forrest ducked the blow and shot his flattened palm at Hammer's arm, batting it away with a stinging strike. He parried Hammer's forrest of strikes and danced between them like he could see each one coming. He bore down on Hammer's arm and pinned it to the bar, snapping the cue in half. He grabbed the ragged end and stabbed it at Hammer's eye. It glanced off the socket and tore a hideous gash in his cheek and temple. Hammer slammed forward into Forrest and knocked him back a step. He grabbed a glass from behind the bar and threw it at Forrest's head. He brushed shards of glass off his cheeks and shirt as Hammer darted behind the bar for more ammunition. Forrest grabbed him by the shirt and dragged him over the bar, tossing him further into the room. He pulled him to his feet and threw him into a slot machine, which shuddered and beeped in disapproval. Hammer cackled and licked blood from his lips as he rose like a disheveled zombie.

"Gonna scalp me, red man?" he asked. He aimed a fist at Forrest's throat, but Forrest caught it in his hand. He squeezed until he heard the fingers crack. Hammer screamed and tried to pull away, but Forrest reeled him in and used his other arm as a fulcrum, slamming Hammer's upturned arm over it and pressing down until it cracked smartly and his hand pointed at the ground. Hammer's scream turned to a shriek and he desperately yanked away from Forrest. His breath was ragged as he staggered back and looked for an escape. But it was too late for that.

"Nowhere to run? Now you know how we felt," Forrest breathed. Hammer's eyes widened desperately and he threw whatever he could reach at Forrest. All he could find was a container of chips, and multicolored pieces of plastic littered the air. Forrest stalked through the rain and zeroed in on Hammer mercilessly. Hammer's face hardened and he charged at Forrest with a wild cry. Forrest turned and threw out an arm, flipping Hammer over onto his back. He landed flat out on the pool table with a smash and a pained grunt. Forrest picked the discarded half pool cue up off the floor and slammed it down through Hammer's chest until it wedged into the table and stood straight up. Hammer gurgled as the lifeblood oozed out of him, standing stark against the green felt of the table. Forrest walked to a nearby table and examined its contents. A siren wailed in the distance, mingling with the noise of the shrieking alarms, no doubt summoned by Linda's call. He picked up a deck of cards and squeezed them in his hand, spraying an arc of of red and black over his fallen enemy.

"Aces high, Hammer."


	12. Epilogue

After that, everything slowly settled back to normal. The Native police force arrived and started cleaning up the mess Forrest had made of the casino. Anyone who might have pressed charges against Forrest for trespassing, assault or murder was dead, and Linda's presence and testimony would have persuaded any jury that Forrest was justified. In any case, Hammer wouldn't have had a chance against a Native-led court. The beleagured medics tried to convince Forrest to go with them to the hospital to tend to his wounds, but he preferred to go home to be nursed by Linda. After a short statement and knowing nods from the attending lawmen, he took his wife's hand and left.

With Hammer dead, the ownership of the casino was called into question. The mobster left no will or testament, and his connections showed no interest in acquiring his unlucky venture. In the end, the property reverted to the government of the reservation, which auctioned it off to the highest bidder. The only bid came from the Native Council, and they appointed Paul Snapping Bear as the casino's caretaker. He immediately set about rebuilding and setting up a profit-sharing program for the benefit of the entire reservation.

A few weeks later, Forrest was present at one of many rebuilding gatherings. After he cleared out Hammer's decorations, Paul had invited all the people of the reservation to help him gather Native items to redecorate the building. People brought in everything from potlach blankets to sacred totems, and Forrest had something of his own to add.

"Forrest! Glad you could make it," Paul said when he saw him. Forrest smiled and bowed respectfully to the aged elder.

"It's good to see this," Forrest said, indicating the newly decorated space.

"It's all thanks to you," Paul said. He stood befor Forrest dressed in full ceremonial regalia. Forrest shook his head.

"Give credit only to the Great Spirit," he said. "And please, allow me to join in the offerings." He took out his ice knife, the blade he'd carried since he earned it in his young adulthood rites of passage. It had seem him through good times and bad, and there was no better place for it. He balanced it on his palm and Paul looked at it in surprised awe.

"I can't take that, Forrest. It belongs with you," he said.

"And I belong with my people," Forrest said. "Take it." Paul gently took the knife and held it like a sacred talisman.

"I know just the place," he said. He wrapped a length of cord around it and hung it on a nail over the casino entrance. Forrest watched in silent approval. It would remain there forever, a symbol of the man who would always guard his people's safety and culture. Snows would come and the winds would howl. There would be predators and enemies, but through it all, they would persevere.


	13. Defender of Justice

No man saw the Reaper and lived. Many souls brushed by him as he walked the city streets on the way to his next appointment, but none of them realized, and so they were spared. It was only a job to the Reaper. It was no more exciting than any other everyday errand. He wasn't summoned when information or pain were needed. Only silence.

And it was silent all around him as he stood outside a rundown apartment building in a quiet part of a moonlit city cul-de-sac. There was a soft crinkle as he retrieved a piece of paper from a pocket not in a black cloak but an unassuming suit, the type any businessman might wear on his way home from work. The entirely mundane and bland briefcase he carried contributed further to the unassuming visage.

It was the correct location. It always was. He already knew everything that would happen next. The building wasn't a glamorous home for starlets or anyone who mattered. It was a dank container filled with those who didn't care for or couldn't afford better. There would be no security guard to buzz him in and no receptionist to take his name. He slipped in the door as quietly as a shadow and wondered if the chill was from the night air he'd let in, or just because of him.

The stained steps squeaked as he climbed up deeper into the building. It wasn't ideal, but at this hour, it was unlikely anyone would notice the noise, even with the thin walls. The very decrepitude of the building, although it made for unwanted noises, also explained them away. Anyone who heard would think it was just the building settling. He reached his floor and continued down the hall.

It wasn't a particularly large building. There were only four sets of doors on either side of him. The second set was his target. He reached the second door on the left and stopped. He ran over his plan a final time and collected his thoughts for a second. There was a doorbell set into the plywood door, but it wouldn't do to make such noise at such an hour.

Instead, he softly knocked. He heard a flurry of motion immediately, and footsteps approached the door but stopped to the right of it. He saw a shadow under the door and knew the man inside was looking through the peephole. As always, it was expected. The man outside the door reached into his left pocket and took out a badge. He held it up beside his expressionless face. He could almost hear the soft sigh from inside the room. There was a click and the sound of metal dragged across wood, and then the doorknob turned.

As the door swung open, the room's occupant was half revealed behind it. The other half stayed hidden because of the speed of what happened next. The Reaper saw his quarry and verified him with a second's glance. His right hand went down to his hip, where his pants were so slightly too large that the discrepancy was unnoticeable. His long, powerful fingers wrapped around something cold and hard. His arm swung up in one natural motion and the man he faced paled and tried to shrink back. His eyes barely had time to focus before the bullet entered his brain. The noise was faintly louder than the scrape of the lock. Death, so feared by all, came with only a whisper.

So another man saw the Reaper.


End file.
